


"Do any of us really get what we deserve?"

by whopooh



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Gen, MFMM Flashfic Challenge June 2018, break-in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh/pseuds/whopooh
Summary: When Phryne comes home one evening, there is someone waiting for her.For the flashfic challenge, and the prompt: fortress, fragile, Dialogue: "Do any of us really get what we deserve?"





	"Do any of us really get what we deserve?"

**Author's Note:**

> As this is a flashfic, no beta was harmed in the writing of this story.

"Do any of us really get what we deserve?"

Phryne looked at the man who had just spoken. Reclining at the mantle, his piercing blue eyes seeking hers out, he seemed to fit the room perfectly – it was like the mantle had once been erected with the sole purpose to allow him to stand by it, decades later. His brooding frown and strikingly handsome face were perfectly set against the crackling fire. A small smile tugged in the corner of his mouth.

He was a beautiful specimen of a man – the thought passed through Phryne’s mind in a flash, as she watched him from her position on a chair. Perhaps one of the most beautiful men she’d ever set eyes on. 

At least he would have been, if the view hadn’t been obscured by the gun he was pointing towards her. 

That was a slight obstacle for her ability to view the scene aesthetically.

“The world is a cruel place, Miss Fisher,” the man continued. His voice wasn’t as pleasing as his countenance; there was a small note of complaint in every sentence he uttered. “It will never see our true genius. We need to build a fortress against it to survive.”

He flashed her a smile – it was self-indulgent, with a hint of cruelty, and instantly took away any beauty she had previously found in his face.

“That’s what you think you did?” Phryne asked sharply, not prepared to be compliant just because he was the one holding a gun. 

This young Mr Mortimer was after all responsible for several people’s misfortune, even if his sister luckily had survived his attempt to her life. Phryne and Dot had played a crucial role in rescuing her and now, a few hours later, it seemed he had broken into her house for revenge. When Phryne had entered her parlour, tired and content after a full day, he had stood there waiting for her. 

With a gesture of his gun, he had made her close the door and sit down. Then he had started to talk about being a genius, and about never receiving what he justly deserved. It seemed a simple case, if only he hadn’t had the gun. 

There were other people in the house; Mortimer had somehow managed to break in without alerting anyone. He wouldn’t be able to escape as easily, but he didn’t seem to care.

“It takes a fragile man to believe that _that_ is a way of showing strength, Mr Mortimer,” Phryne said, her voice steady. “And a very foolish one.” 

He gave her a hurt look.

“Do not talk to me in that way, Miss Fisher,” he said, shaking his gun slightly to show he was prepared to use it. 

Phryne was calculating her options, trying to estimate her chances if she would try to move. He seemed very focused on her, and nervous in a way that could make him pull the trigger. She was sitting like a cat – for all appearances relaxed, but every muscle in her body prepared to take action in an instant. The adrenaline was pumping through her. Mr Mortimer was obviously a fool, but those were not necessarily less deadly than clever men.

Just as he was about to say something more, there was a sound from the hallway, a knock at the door. Mortimer couldn’t help but flick his eyes towards the sound. This was her chance! 

Phryne leaped up from the chair and lunged towards the man. Her hand hit his wrist and the gun flew away to land with a clatter on the floor. She grabbed him and swung him down on the floor, face forward, putting her knee in the small of his back. 

It was over in a second. Mortimer groaned beneath her, not fully comprehending what had hit him.

At that moment, the door to the parlour opened. Mr Butler came to view, a well-known figure behind him.

“The Inspector to see you, Miss,” he said politely. 

She saw him take in the scene: that his mistress was squatting on the floor, a man beneath her, her chest heaving heavily. Jack was slightly quicker on the uptake, but he still didn’t seem sure what exactly they had walked in on.

“Excellent timing, Inspector,” Phryne called out, her voice only slightly strained. “If you would be so kind as to arrest Mr Mortimer and take him into custody.”

Realisation finally dawned on the men, and they both rushed to her side. 

“Miss Fisher!” Jack exclaimed as he helped her up and grabbed the man, then handing him over to Mr Butler’s steel grip so he could look her over. “Are you alright?” 

The liberated Phryne dug out a handkerchief from her décolletage and used it to pick up the gun.

“Never been better, Jack.” Her smile was bright. “If you would please take him, and this gun, to the station? We can question him in the morning.”

“Of course, Miss Fisher,” he said, his glance still lingering to assess her as she handed him the gun. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Just a little bit shaken, Jack,” she answered, before letting her smile become broader. “But you’d better come back and check in on me again, to make sure. Sometimes shock can be delayed.” She made a small pause. “Also, I have the most exquisite whiskey I’ve been meaning to ply you with.” 

Jack couldn’t help letting a smile escape at that, before he nodded and straightened his face. He took over Mortimer from Mr Butler and walked them to the door. 

“You know, I do believe, Mr Mortimer,” Phryne said, just as they reached the door. They paused to look back at her. “I do believe this means everyone gets what they deserve.”


End file.
